The Ghost of Corporate Future
by Valentaku
Summary: Real world AU, different from my High School AU. Sam is serving as a mindless desk jockey for Richard Roman enterprises in NYC when an eccentric food service worker named Gabriel changes his life. Meanwhile, estranged brother Dean back in Kansas mourns the death of his wife, raises his daughter, and considers a new life with a broken stranger named Castiel. Destiel/Sabriel.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: First Encounters of the Worst Kind

Sam Winchester woke up in his apartment. He got out of bed on the left side, and remade the bed. He didn't have to- he never mussed the sheets, and the right side of the bed was completely unused anyways. He then piled the pillows he never used out of the cabinet and onto the bed, arranging them to look like they had on the floor display when he had purchased the set at a large department store. Then, he walked to the kitchen and drank cold coffee from the day before. He put a new pot on to brew for the next day, and wiped down the spotless counter where he had set his cup. He padded to his bathroom, urinated, and brushed his teeth. He showered in the evenings. He cleaned the sink thoroughly, and made sure to shut out the light behind him before padding back to his bedroom. At his closet, he stood precisely three minutes selecting a tie from the three that he owned- one from his mother, one from an ex-girlfriend whose name he didn't remember, and one that he purchased for his graduation from Stanford Business School. He chose the teal one. Again. He then put on one of his three suits- the blue one with grey stripes, not the grey one with blue stripes. He tied his long hair into a ponytail with a black hair tie at precisely 7:15, and left the apartment to the street where a taxi was waiting for him, summoned by text while brushing his teeth. He arrived precisely on time for his 7:45 train, and was seated comfortably in his cubicle by 8:30.

He worked diligently, not paying much attention to the mind numbing tasks he was preforming. He wasn't even sure whether or not he could describe his job if he was asked what he did- he simply… _did_. It had been four years since he'd graduated Stanford Business School and moved to New York, hopeful and talented and twenty one sweet years old. Four years since he had taken this entry level job for Dick Roman Enterprises with back-patted promises of 'big things' for the 'kid' who had 'real guts'. That was the last time he heard such sentimental or inspirational words. He sighed, and glanced at the time on the bottom of his screen. Eleven O'clock. Time to take a taxi down to Farina's and order his whole-grain, low-fat Munster and turkey breast sub from the manic depressive behind a glass sneeze guard. He closed all of his windows, and began his walk to the elevator. The elevator was predictably full, so he altered his course, as he did every day, to take the stairs. On the stairs, he passed the janitor for his floor and they nodded their greetings, like they had every day for four years. When he got to the lobby, he was met with a surprise. A road block on the road in front of his building, and construction workers squinting, sweating, and pointing in the heat, wearing their vibrant oranges and yellows like priests of some strange cult to the sun. Sam was not the only suit standing cow-like and vaguely perturbed as they slowly realized that this road work meant that taxis wouldn't be driving down the street in front of the building until the construction was over. Which meant taking a bus to lunch. Which meant going to the cafeteria for lunch. Sam joined the wave of tired, well dressed people pulling out smartphones to tweet their dismay or rearrange lunch meetings and the afternoon's plans.

The cafeteria was more crowded that it probably had ever been, and the food service continued to open more and more counters, caught off guard and trying to provide the service they were actually paid to provide. He waited quietly back from the lines and watched for a new counter to open up, a slight spark of his old proactive nature showing through for a moment. When he saw lights come on across the cafeteria, he hurried to the counter with relatively few strides of his long legs. He stopped in front of the glass and stood with his arms at his side, making eye contact with the small, blonde, somewhat round man in a food service uniform and old fashioned paper hat. They maintained eye contact in a long awkward silence while people lined up behind Sam before the small man folded his arms on his side of the counter, and leaned forward.

"What'll you have, Moose?" he asked. Sam was indignant at the informal address, and embarrassed to realize that he had been standing in silence because he hadn't even thought to check what was being offered at the counter. He glanced back at the growing line behind him.

"What do you have?" he asked. The small man smiled, and spread his arms.

"What does it look like, Moose?" he asked. Sam cringed. 'Moose' again. Sam looked at the glass case, and saw that it was full of desserts. He thought of his barely maintained waste line and groaned inwardly, but looking back one last time at the line, decided to order here anyways.

"Any suggestions?" he asked with his face in his hand. The short man shrugged.

"Why not eat a slice of pie for him?" the short man suggested. Sam looked up, confused.

"For who?" he asked warily. The short man shrugged.

"Old roommate. Dad. Brother. You know some guy who likes pie, right? Everybody does." He explained. Sam admitted that he actually saw the logic there. '

"Alright, a slice of cherry pie." He said. The short, insolent man winked at him, and tasted a fingertip of the pie before handing it to him. Sam was flustered.

"I could report you!" he said, not knowing who to report him _to_, let alone whether or not he actual could. The short man grinned.

"Don't worry, kiddo. You won't." He said. Sam scowled, and stalked off on long legs to eat his pie by himself next to a hundred other adults in suits, all of them hunched at cafeteria tables like parodies of high school students.


	2. Chapter 2

**Heeeey! Thanks for reading, I'm really enjoying this one. There are a few confusing parts, and they are meant to be confusing. They show back up later in the story. All will come to light!**

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Chapter Three: The Other Mr. Winchester

Dean Winchester woke up with his alarm at six in the morning, but quickly hit the snooze button. He didn't want to wake up Jo if he didn't have to. He had woken up to the sound of her tears four hours ago, and hurried to her room to lift her from her bed and hold her to him, sitting in her room with the lights on while she tearfully recounted her nightmare- something about monkeys and bats. It sounded more absurd than frightening, but Dean understood the terror of dream logic. He told her that it would all seem funny in the morning, and that she was safe with him tonight. She dug her hands into his t shirt, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Daddy, I don't want to sleep in here tonight." She said. He smiled slightly, knowing inside that she would be sleeping with him tonight.

"I'll leave the lights on in the hall." He promised. She dug her face into his chest.

"No. The closet can still see me." She said with the heartbreaking desperation of a frightened child. He nodded, and gave her his answer by standing again and carrying her with him to his bedroom. She burrowed under the covers on what was once her mother and namesake's side of the bed before crawling over to her father and curling up against his side. He put an arm around her, and stayed awake until she had fallen asleep.

Now, the next morning, she was still in the same position she had fallen asleep in. He smiled, and ran his hand over her hair before carefully getting out of bed to get ready for work. His mother was going to drop by the house to watch her in an hour when he left for work, as she had since his wife Josephine had…

He shaved in the bathroom with only the night light on, still careful not to wake his daughter. He styled his hair, stepped into his jumpsuit, and began to get breakfast ready, now turning on lights and purposely making noise in the kitchen to wake Josephine up. He cracked eggs, toasted bread, and fried bacon, carefully cutting the meat and toast into small pieced for his three year old daughter. She wandered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Her blonde hair was a mess, and she was wearing her pink night shirt with a socket wrench printed on it. Dean set her plate down at the table, and she pulled herself up into her chair, a small pink wooden construction made for her by her Grandpa John. She bit off the corner of one of her pieces of toast.

"You were right, daddy." She said at length. Dean sat down next to her on his normal-sized chair, and raised an eyebrow. Through a mouth full of eggs, he asked

"What about, Jo?"

She swallowed a bite of bacon.

"About the nightmare. It seems silly now." She said. He smiled.

"Your old man wouldn't lie to you." He promised. She smiled.

…

At work, there was a job waiting for him. A collision. Some mook had crashed his car into a tree coming in off the highway, but the guy somehow managed to walk away unharmed. The car was a different story. The exterior damage was bad enough, he'd have to do some work to see what could be done for the interior.

"What did you say this guy's name was?" Dean called to his boss as he circled the ruined car.

"Some city boy called Castiel."

Castiel- what ever happened to normal names?

Two hours later, dean pulled himself out from under the ruined car. He grabbed a rag off of one of the tool boxes and began to wipe the grease off of his hands as he walked into the office adjoining the garage. Standing in the corner, still waiting from that morning, was a tall, trench-coat wearing man that Dean assumed was Castiel. He reclined in one of the chairs in the office, and motioned for Castiel to follow suit, but the man remained standing.

"Mr. Castiel, I have some good news and some bad news." He said. Castiel looked at him grimly.

"Perhaps it would be best if you were to preface the bad news with the good." He said in a strangely gravelly voice. Den shrugged, and nodded.

"Good news is, it's doable. You can be behind the wheel again for about two thousand even." He said. Castiel balked, then regained his composure, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Dare I ask the bad news?" he asked. Dean leaned forward in the chair.

"Well, it's going to be about three weeks before she's up and running." He said. Castiel cocked his head.

"That is all?" he asked. Dean nodded, confused.

"I can call you a car, if you going someplace." He offered. Castiel smiled, showing white teeth.

"I have never been going someplace in my life. Three weeks is fine." He said. Dean shrugged again. So long as he got paid, he didn't care.

When dean got home, Jo ran to the door to greet him. Dean swung her up into his arms, and she giggled. He walked into the house holding her on his hip, and Mary walked into the doorway to the kitchen, a towel in her hands, smiling as well. Dean walked over to her, still holding Jo, and kissed her cheek.

"Hey, mom. Thanks for watching Jo again." He said. Mary laughed.

"You know that your father and I wanted a thousand more. And Jo is an _excellent_ granddaughter." She added, kissing Jo on the forehead. She squirmed but smiled. Dean smelled the air.

"Is that"- he began. Mary nodded.

"I made dinner for you. I figured Jo would want something besides burgers or eggs for a change." She teased, going to the oven and pulling out a trey of lasagna. Dean put down Jo.

"I can cook more than just that. " He said, taking the lasagna from her and walking it to the kitchen table. "I just don't see any reason to." He added, joking. Mary walked past him to get her purse from the living room.

"I should hope you can make better than that- you learned from the best." She chided. Dean glanced at the purse on her arm.

"You're leaving already, mom?" he asked. She nodded.

"You may be a Suzy Homemaker, but that father of yours is useless in the kitchen. If I make him wait any longer he'll resort to cold canned beans." She said, hugging Jo one last time and kissing Dean on the cheek. He nodded, strangely sad that she was leaving.

"You bring him over some time, I'll make us dinner." Dean called after her as she left the house.

"That sounds lovely. Oh, and there's a pie in the oven" she replied. Dean grinned, and checked the oven.

It was pecan. His smile disappeared.

He eat none of it.

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**Once again, thank you for reading this! Next chapter we're back with Sam. Feel free to leave reviews, even negative criticism fills my heart with joy. Thanks again to Redpanda23 for putting up with my breakneck drafting and editing anyways.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome back! Thank you for reading, and thank you for the lovely reviews. More Sabriel in three, two, one...**

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Chapter 2: A Second Impression, Sort Of.

Sam Winchester woke up in his apartment. He got out of bed on the left side, and remade the bed. He didn't have to- he never mussed the sheets, and the right side of the bed was completely unused anyways. He then piled the pillows he never used out of the cabinet and onto the bed, arranging them to look like they had on the floor display when he had purchased the set at a large department store. Then, he walked to the kitchen and drank cold coffee from the day before. He put a new pot on to brew for the next day, and wiped down the spotless counter where he had set his cup. He padded to his bathroom, urinated, and brushed his teeth. He showered in the evenings. He cleaned the sink thoroughly, and made sure to shut out the light behind him before padding back to his bedroom. At his closet, he stood precisely three minutes selecting a tie from the three that he owned- one from his mother, one from an ex-girlfriend whose name he didn't remember, and one that he purchased for his graduation from Stanford Business School. He chose the teal one. Again. He then put on one of his three suits- the blue one with grey stripes, not the grey one with blue stripes. He tied his long hair into a ponytail with a black hair tie at precisely 7:15, and left the apartment to the street where a taxi was waiting for him, summoned by text while brushing his teeth. He arrived precisely on time for his 7:45 train, and was seated comfortably in his cubicle by 8:30.

_Except_.

Since he'd gotten back from lunch the day before, while getting a cup of coffee from the first floor machine on his way to the fifth floor machine, Sam hadn't been able to stop thinking about the strange little man who had tasted his pie. He thought about reasons why he had done it, why he had smiled, why he had even talked to him at all. He puzzled as he sat back down at his monitor. Certainly there had been nothing to gain from it. He wasn't getting any extra money from it, so he had no reason to take any extra measures. Sam resolved that he was probably some sort of mentally impaired intern hired for the company's out-reach program that they did for the P.R machine. He put it out of his mind, and went back to work.

_Except._

When he got home, and he put his lean cuisine in the microwave after turning on a sitcom that he'd forgotten the name of, he remembered the pie. How he hadn't tasted anything sweet in such a long time- and then Dean. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to his mechanic older brother, probably Christmas. Or Easter. No, Christmas was last quarter, wasn't it? Whatever. A holiday with gifts and Dean's little daughter Jo toddling around under everyone's feet. He thought now that he should probably call him, but thought better of it. He had a reason for never calling, and a blond, mentally impaired elf wasn't going to force his hand with a slice of Dean's favorite food. But it had been such a long time… peeling the top off of the steamed beige much that was his dinner, he considered rushing out and buying another pie, but thought better of it. No need to break the diet twice in one day.

_Except_

All night and into the next day, little _'excepts_' kept following him around. Like, _'except you know he isn't special needs',_ and '_except you really just want another slice of pie.'_. Just, '_except'_.

When lunch time came around, he decided not to waste his time at the elevator, and went straight to the stair case. He nodded his hello to the janitor, who nodded his back, surprised to meet Sam further down the stairs than normal. He made it to the lobby before remembering that his experience at the cafeteria was not to be the last, unless he wanted to take city transportation. Lunch in the cafeteria was going to have to be a regular ordeal. He ran his fingers through his hair, and made his way to the cafeteria.

When he got there, there were already lines at most of the counters, which were open in anticipation of the new rush. He wandered around, searching against his better judgment for the dessert counter he had used yesterday. A light came on at one of the counters just as he passed it, and he turned to see the little man leaning against the counter again, his head cocked and a smile on his closed-eyed face. Sam felt an unexplained swell of anger in his chest at the sight of the smugly smiling stranger, but went over to the counter anyways. The little man grabbed on to the counter with both hands and swung away from it.

"What'll it be today, sir? Fancy an éclair, or perhaps a crisp napolea"- he began, but Sam cut him off.

"Chery pie." He said. The little man nodded.

"A man who knows what he likes. I can admire that." He said. Sam tapped his foot impatiently as the man made a show of getting a slice of pie onto a pie wedge, grateful that there was no line behind him. Apparently he wasn't the only one that this tiny man had flustered. The man stopped right before plating the pie, and spoke without looking up. "Why not pecan, kiddo? To remind you of someone's southern sweetheart?" he asked. Sam balked, thinking of a summer he and Dean spent in Louisiana when he was sixteen. Gabriel looked up at his shocked expression. "Don't look at me that way. Everyone has a"- he began.

"'Friend who had a southern Sweetheart.' Yeah. Just give me the cherry pie." He said. The little man shrugged.

"Fine. I'm just making conversation." He said. Sam narrowed his eyes and held a finger out.

"That's another thing. You don't get paid to make conversation, you get paid to make food." He said, indignation welling in him again. The little man slid the plate of pie to him across the counter.

"Enjoy!" he said, still smiling. Sam seethed for the rest of the day.

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**Thanks again for reading! I always pray for reviews- I love seeing them, so feel free to yell at me, correct me, or whatever elseyour heart desires. Next chapter is a Destiel chapter. The song I chose for the them song in the Sabriel chapters is "Ghost of Corporate Future" by Regina Spektor- I would love it if you would leave or send me suggestions for a song for the Destiel portion. **


	4. Chapter 4

**So! This is still a Destiel Story, just... keep that in mind before disowning me. Everyone has a past! Anyways, thanks for reading, thanks for the reviews, and... yeah!**

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Chapter Four: The Past and Other Hazardous Waste

That night while he was falling asleep, Dean thought about the pecan pie his mother had made, and the summer that it meant to him…

…

The summer after Sam's sophomore year, when Sam was sixteen and Dean was nineteen, Dean took his father's impala and drove Sam down to New Orleans for the summer as a reward for not dropping out of school like he had. Of course, he told Sam that it was because he had heard great things about Cajun girls. That wasn't far from the truth; he was certainly not averse to enjoying the local wildlife once they got to the bayou cabin that he had rented for them for the summer, but the trip was mostly for Sam's benefit.

When he and Sam got to the cabin, they were stricken by the truly oppressive humidity of the bayou. The air felt like bathwater, was thick with insects, and they loved it. The cabin was in a clearing of mangrove, a rundown shack more than anything, on stilts for when the swamp flooded. The windows were grimy to the point of opaqueness, and the whole thing looked like a death trap. Sam's face split into a grin the first time he saw it. It was perfect.

They lived happily for the next few weeks, indulging in whatever boyish activities they wanted- sleeping late, fishing bare chested off of the raft they found under the stilted house, drinking late into the night and talking about the girls back home. Days ran together, and if it weren't for the calendar that Sam was keeping in the "kitchen" of the house, they probably wouldn't have had any concept of when they were from day to day. On Monday of the third week, a day that Dean would never forget, _he_ came rafting down the bayou to the little wooden dock by the house.

…

The stocky boy, about eighteen and a little taller than Dean, had a few days stubble on his wide chin and wore a pair of ragged cutoff jeans and an open gray vest.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean asked. The boy took off his sailor's hat, and put it over his heart.

"Bernard Lafitte, at your service, sir." He said, his voice mushy with Cajun syllables. Dean nodded.

"And what are you doing here?" he asked. Sam came jogging out of the house, pulling a short sleeved button down on as he approached the dock.

"Went out fishin' for my momma. Got thirsty and heard someone splashing around in the bayou like a drowning gator, so I followed that lookin' for something to drink." He said. Dean looked indignant.

"I was poling the raft in for the day." He said. Bernard laughed.

"Sounded like you was trying to take the whole bayou with her!" he said. Dean narrowed his eyes.

"We have a well around back if you're still thirsty." Sam offered, putting a hand on his angry brother's shoulder. Bernard replaced the hat on his head.

"Much obliged." He rumbled in his deep, resonating voice, winking at Dean and following Sam to the well.

At the well, He drank deep from the spigot, letting the water run down his stubbly chin. Straightening himself up, he offered his hand to the brothers. Sam shook it immediately, and Dean eyed him for a moment before taking it.

"Thank you, kindly, boys. My momma'll be expecting catfish for supper, so I'd best be setting off." He said. Dean nodded. Sam thought for a moment.

"Dean loves fishing. Maybe he could help you out with that." he suggested. Bernard laughed.

"This boy would scare the fish from bitin' for a mile, splashing around with the pole like he does. But if he thinks he can help, my momma would certainly be happy to seat two more at supper." He said. Dean opened his mouth to protest Sam volunteering him when Bernard added: "My momma makes the best pecan pie you ever tasted."

Dean closed his mouth, and looked around.

"Sammy, Where's my tackle box?"

…

In his bed in his house in Kansas, years later, Dean buried his head in his pillow, willing the memory to go away. His mind began to stray to his wife, and if his daughter Jo weren't in the house, he'd have taken down a bottle of Jaeger to forget that to. Benny was less painful than Josephine, so he gave up and closed his eyes again.

…

Bernard, who had told them to call him Benny, had not lied about his mother's pie. After a day of him critiquing Dean's comparatively sub-par fishing skills, they had returned sunburned but victorious to the little dock with a bucket of fish, where they found Sam sprawled out sleeping on the grass by the water. A green snake, large but not venomous, was curled up in the grass next to him, and they stifled their laughter before calling to wake him up. Hilarity ensued.

Dinner at Benny's house, which was a little tin shack about three miles down the way from theirs, was a lively, wonderful experience. Having not seen other human beings in weeks, Benny's house, with his six younger siblings and authoritative mother, was a chaotic change in the best possible way. After assessing the two Winchester boys and discerning that they were both too skinny and too pale (funny considering Benny's pallid complexion), she diagnosed three fried catfish each as medication, drowned in hot sauce, 'for the constitution', as Benny translated. Her accent was made her nearly unintelligible, and half of what she said was French, but she reminded them somewhat of their own mother. The meal itself was huge, long, and loud, and was truly a round table ordeal; everyone was on equal ground in the conversation, from eighteen year old Benny to four year old Antoinette. By the time they reached the promised pie, neither Winchester boy thought that they could possibly eat another bite. When Mrs. Lafitte came out of the kitchen holding the pie in her hands, Dean's heart skipped a beat. It was golden and glistening, and when he put the first bite into his mouth, it was every bit as amazing as Benny promised it would be.

…

Mrs. Lafitte insisted that the boys stay the night. The house had one bedroom, and they were all packed together in it. Mrs. Lafitte slept in the bed with the youngest children, and the older offspring (Sam and Dean included) slept on the wooden floor. Dean ended up in the corner of the room, the floor so crowded that they were practically piled on it. Late in the night, Dean woke amongst the sleeping children, and felt a strange warmth. It was completely dark, and it took him a moment to realize in his half-sleeping state what was going on. Benny had rolled over in his sleep, and was effectively spooning him against the wall. He felt himself blush, but was uncomfortable to realize that the solid feeling of Benny's body against his was…

He shook his head to clear it, and Benny woke up. Dean felt him look around tiredly, and then put his head back down and smile into the back of Dean's neck. Benny made no endeavors to move away, and shivering slightly, Dean realize that he didn't want him to. He waited until he heard the steady gentle breathing that meant that Benny was sleeping, and drifted back off to sleep himself. In the morning, he reassured himself that he wasn't gay, that he had been tired, that it could have been a dream.

…

In his bed in the present, Dean finally fell asleep. Dreamless, but free from the memories of the past.

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**Thanks for reading again, feel free to review and whatnot. Next chapter is another Sabriel, which should set sail sooner rather than later. Destiel in later chapters, its still the main ship for Dean (I promise!); I'm just taking my time.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the wait! I just started a huge project for my portfolio, and I wont be able to write as quickly as I generally due for a while because I'll be so busy. A chapter a week at least, I promise. Thankyou again for the reviews- enjoy!**

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Chapter 5: Restless

The next day at lunch, the blonde man was lying on his side on top of the glass case, a hand behind his neck, drawing glances and glares from all over the cafeteria. Sam's eyes widened in incredulity as he approached the counter. The blonde man wiggled his eyebrows.

"Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack." He said in a breathy voice. Sam looked away, and then back, making sure that this was actually happening.

"Get down from there." He snapped. Glancing over at a man whom Sam presumed was his supervisor, he grimaced and slid back down to the floor.

"Good idea, moose." He said, straightening his paper hat. "Cherry pie?" he asked, his pie wedge hovering over what looked to be the same cherry pie from Monday.

"That hat isn't part of your uniform." Sam replied. The short man looked surprised.

"It's called style, Jolly Green. Look it up." He sassed. Sam shook his head, his frustration marginally less than he had expected it to be.

"What's your name?" he asked. Gabriel balked in mock incredulity.

"Now what with the personal questions he is asking!" he said nasally. Sam glared again. "Fine. I'm Gabriel. And you, my mammoth friend, are Sammy Winchester. "Gabriel said. Sam looked shocked. "You wear a company I.D, home slice." Gabriel explained. Sam looked down, and realized that Gabriel was correct. Funny- he put it on every morning, but he never thought about it.

"Let's get this straight, Gabriel. I am _not_ you _home-slice._"" He said, the hyphen clearly present in his pronunciation. Gabriel plated the Cherry pie without being given an order and handed it to him with a wink.

"You asked my name, Sammy. Getting pretty fresh with me." He said, batting his eyelasheds rapidly. Sam flipped him off as he stalked off to eat his pie. Gabriel smiled. That was something, at least.

…

When Gabriel returned to his apartment that night, he knelt to greet his dog Fenris. Fenris, a little white rescue with a black spot over one eye, leapt into his arms and began to lick his face. He laughed, and picked him up, walking into his living room. The apartment reflected his eclectic tastes- alternating walls were hung with rugs, tapestries, vintage movie posters, and anything else that caught his eye while lurking the dreadful little shops outside Greenwich. His apartment smelled like pipe tobacco, frankincense, and of course sweets. Speaking of which, he put Fenris down on the couch and made his way over to his kitchen, where he pulled a box of donuts down off of the shelf. His friends back at home had always wondered how he never grew tired of sweet food- and wondered even more that he never seemed to gain weight. The first ha never changed, but pushing thirty six, he found that the food was finally starting to catch up with him. He thought of Sam's little belly, and he smiled sadly. That boy…

He stripped down to his pajamas- his undershirt and boxers- in the middle of his kitchen, since there was nobody to tell him not too, and chortled at the "Lost Boy" feeling of it. He pulled a fez off the top of his fridge and wandered back to the living room, where he sunk down into a beanbag chair with Fenris at his heels. Fenris jumped into his lap, and he pet him absentmindedly, still thinking about Sam. He had never seen anyone so… Tall? That wasn't the word he was looking for. Sam had an energy in him he hadn't seen since starting work for R.R.E, but it was hidden… trapped, more like. He pushed Fenris off of his lap, and the little dog went into the other room to curl up on its bed. The light in Sam's eyes when he broke through the lethargy and boredom… it was the most attractive thing about him. Far more attractive than his gorgeous mane. Or his angelic face, or his…

He placed his arms behind his head and reclined. He would have to find a way to get through to him. He'd been trying every day for a week now, and couldn't get anything. He glanced at the low table next to him, and picked up his paper hat, fingered it distractedly, before placing it on his head. He fought the sudden urge to look Sam up in the company directory and call him up- or even better, getting down a bottle of Midori and turn it into a drunk dial. He didn't, but was almost surprised at himself- he wasn't much for self-control. He had always done whatever he wanted, and managed to get away with it. Like eating too many sweets, buying what he can't afford, and dating the minister's son in high school. Whatever. He was afraid that he was falling in love with Sam, but figured it was fascination. He would love to sleep with him, of course, but he was more interested in seeing more of that spark, that hidden flame, that he knew was there. Call him Prometheus, he wanted to steal that fire and give it to the world. Or to himself. Whatever. He wanted to do this, and by god, he was going to do it. He wondered what Sam's Facebook pictures were like…

…

At his apartment, Sam left his clothes on the floor when he changed into his pajamas. He didn't shave after brushing his teeth. He looked at the ties and dress shirts online, thinking "Style. Look it up" without exactly remembering why.

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**Style. Look it up, people. Hope you liked this, We are back with Dean and Cass in the next chapter, where Cass starts to become a bigger player... in the story sense, not he "Playah" sense. Please feel free to leave a review, and thank you for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**So, this chapter is rated "M", and has triggers for homophobia in it, so... sorry. This ones long, and Destiel still hasn't happened yet, but this is crucial to both understanding the coming Destiel, and the future discussions of dean's relationship with Sam. Thanks for the follows and reviews, and enjoy!**

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Chapter 6: Eden and the One Who Left There.

The summer that Dean spent in Louisiana was one of the best in his life, and the biggest regret of his existence.

The morning after he spent the night at Benny's, Benny poled them back to their cabin on his raft. Dean was relieved that he didn't seem to be acknowledging the strange, intimate moment they had shared that night.

"You boys don't be strangers, you hear?" he said when they got to the little dock. Sam nodded enthusiastically.

"You want to come up and see the cabin?" he asked. Benny removed his hat, as he had the day before, and nodded.

"Much obliged."

And that was that.

Dean and Benny spent most of the summer together, while Sam read on a hammock behind the cabin or mooned over a local girl called Ruby in town, his frequent use of the car stranding Dean and Benny in the bayou all day almost every day. The Bayou was, for lack of a better word, paradise- the green light filtering through hundred year old mangroves, the moss hanging like thick green spider webs in a fairy tale. The water was good for swimming when they weren't thinking about alligators, good for fishing the rest of the time, and the ground was warm and firm, perfect for sleeping and doing nothing. Dean found that after getting past the strange encounter he had had with Benny at the beginning of the summer, he and the boy were becoming close friends. He and Benny talked for hours, and would sit on the raft in the sun enjoying the sounds of the swamp. At the end of the fifth week, sitting on the porch with Sam and Dean and watching the sun set over the water, Benny took a swig from his hip flask.

"There's an island down river from here that only shows its face round this time of the year." He remarked, passing the flask to Dean, who also took a draft.

"Sounds like something needs seeing." He said, unconsciously slipping into the easy southern drawl he was picking up from Benny. Benny smiled, the only one who noticed this.

"Something tells me that little Sammy here might want the homestead for himself and Miss Ruby pretty soon." He said, smiling slyly. Sam blushed, but didn't correct him. Benny grinned, and put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Looks like we're headin' of for a few days, brotha." He said. A slight nervousness fluttering in his stomach, Dean nodded, and smiled.

The trip only had to take one day, but the two boys stopped periodically along the way to fish in the river and intended to take two. It was on one of these stops, sometime after noon, that Dean leaned sleepily against Benny on the raft, resting his head on the boy's shoulder. Benny raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. The sun was warm, and bright, and Dean dozed with his fishing pole in his hands, grateful for Benny supporting him. He eventually put down his line, and felt Benny's wide hand move to his back, rubbing it gently and shyly. He was comfortable and dozy, and he nestled his head deeper into Benny's shoulder and neck, vaguely aware that this was moving beyond platonic but not certain how to react. He was shirtless, and Benny was in his old gray vest, and he suddenly felt exposed and a little self-conscious. The solidness of Benny's presence, the gentle hand on the small of his back, moving higher… he felt arousal uncurling in him, and was still ill at ease, uncertain of what to make of it. He was afraid; afraid of the feeling since Benny was about as far from a woman as you could get, afraid of what it would mean for him if he decided not to care… he swallowed, and moved a hand under the other boy's vest, mirroring the taller boy's actions, and looking up to see his reaction. A slow smile crept onto his bearded face, and he leaned down and kissed Dean. Dean felt his heart accelerate, marveling at this new experience, and his hands moved up to cup the chin of the face that was now pressed into his. He was suddenly hungry to learn what this meant, the scratch of Benny's beard on his cheeks, the appetite behind the other boy's kiss that he had only ever known coming from his own, and swung his legs around (nearly upsetting the raft) to straddle the larger boy's lap, before finally pulling away, panting for breath. They were both already sweating and red-faced from the sudden exertion in the sun.

"This is a very bad idea…" Dean began, but cut himself off by grabbing handfuls of Benny's vest and pulling himself to him again, kissing him with a curiosity that both of them could share, and they didn't feel like stopping.

…

The sun was setting, and the boys were lying on their backs on the raft, still anchored in the same part of the river they had been hours before. Dean and Benny didn't look at each other, but held hands across the raft- it was simply too warm to be any closer.

"So, that happened." Dean said. He was a sore, and a little ashamed, but overall it hadn't been as horrible as it could have been. It was the first time with a man for both of them, and they were still pretty solidly on the learning curve, and although this went against Dean's most basic principles… he knew he would do it again.

"Yes indeed, sugah." Benny rumbled. 'Sugah'- Dean liked that. He squirmed a little, the soreness in his abdomen a little distracting, but focused on the sunset.

"I haven't felt this way… ever." He said. Benny laughed, a kind and rumbling sound.

"Neither have I, sugah. Neither have I." he said. Dean shook his head.

"I don't mean the sex, Ben. I feel… full. Complete. Like there's nothing I want from anyone…" he trailed off, feeling foolish. Benny nodded.

"I think I know what you mean, sugah." Benny sighed. The sun continued to fall.

…

Benny woke Dean with a kiss the next morning, and they pulled on their shorts and continued down the river. When they reached the island, which was more a tangle of exposed mangroves and silty earth than a land mass, they set up camp at the very center of the eight-thousand square foot outcropping. The camp site was deeply overhung by braches and plant life, and well hidden from the river itself. For the next week, Dean was happier than he had ever been. They loved at all times of the day,whenever the mood struck them, or fished, or lay in silence. They learned, experimented… they felt time slip away from them until they weren't even sure if they were alive. After a while, they were less like two people and more like one; thinking the same thoughts, living the same lives. They had no secrets, told no lies… The island and its forest, as their Eden, was pure. One night, lying by the fire in each other's arms, Benny said in a low voice: "This doesn't have to end".

Dean was not as surprised as he thought he should have been.

"Why not?" he asked, more conversationally than inquisitively. Benny shrugged gently.

"You're nineteen, your brother is a big boy. He can drive home by himself, leave you here with me." He said. He was pleading, not suggesting. Dean tried to imagine reentering his life in Kansas after this summer, and found that he couldn't.

"Of course."

Of course.

…

They returned two weeks later to the cabin to find that Sam had hardly missed them. He and Ruby, a little southern girl with a wide face and dark hair, had been quite happy together. Dean and Benny met and escaped onto the river or into the woods whenever they could get away from Sam, and at the end of the summer, Dean sat Sam down at the kitchen table.

"Sammy, I've got something to tell you." Dean said. He didn't look Sam in the eye. Sam looked at him with the investment and interest that only Sam could muster, earnestness the mode of his sixteen-year-old existence. He had said his goodbyes to Ruby earlier in the day, straight from a Nicolas Sparks preview, but the tears had already dried and the pain was already gone from his face. Dean cleared his throat and continued. "I'm… I'm not coming back home with you." He said. Sam shook his head.

"That doesn't make any sense. Of course you're coming home with me. You've got a job waiting for you, and…" Dean put his hands over Sam's.

"Sammy, I fell in love… with Louisiana. I want to get a job that's _here_, make a new life, a life… here." He sputtered out, wincing at the lie. Sam looked incredulous.

"So, anything specific you want me to tell mom and dad in regards to your sudden desire to uproot your life for the backwaters?" he asked. Dean shook his head.

"Don't make this harder, Sammy. Just tell them… I fell in love." He said, tossing him the keys to the Impala and walking towards his room. Sam called after him.

"With the state. Got it."

Dean went to sleep.

…

The next day, Dean said his goodbyes to Sam. They were bitter on Sam's part, and all but tearful on Dean's. There was an almost drunken numbness covering Dean, at the reality of what he was doing. He almost didn't believe it.

"Tell mom and dad I'll be down to check in in a month." Dean said to Sam through the car window. Sam shook his head, looking straight forward.

"Fucking _call_ them, Dean. _Before_ I get home, please." He said.

"Sammy"- Dean began, but Sam had motored off.

Dean walked into the trees behind the stilted cabin, and Benny walked out from behind one of them. Dean was crying now.

"Benny, what if this isn't right?" he asked. And Benny was there, holding him, kissing him, comforting and shushing him in that rumbling, deep-Cajun voice.

"Shhhh, Sugah. Things are gonna be just fine, I promise." He said quietly between kisses. Dean nodded, and held tight to him. A twig snapped, and both of their heads whirled around. Sam was standing a few yards away, his arms crossed.

"So." He said, looking from boy to boy as they pulled away from each other hurriedly, both turning crimson in moments. Sam stared, his face beyond fury, beyond betrayal. "Fell in love with the state. Got it." He began to walk off. Dean ran to catch up with him.

"Sammy, please I"- Dean began. Sam held up a hand for silence.

"I'm fine, Dean. Just fine. I can go home, tell mom and dad the truth- that you've left them to be a pervert, a faggot in the swamp water with that inbred _freak _crouching in the bushes." He spat. Dean was crying again. How could Sam say those things? Benny was Sam's friend.

"Please don't tell them. Please, Sammy I'll do anything." He was blubbering now. It was starting to rain. Sam sighed.

"They never have to know, Dean. If you _come home with me_. If you come home and give this up, put it behind you, get some self fucking respect…" Sam trailed off. Dean looked from Sam, the thought of his parents, to Benny, standing in the rain, too soaked now for Dean to see if he was crying or not.

"I'll go." Dean managed. Sam nodded, and got into the driver's seat. Dean took shotgun, and watched Benny through the rear view mirror as he shrunk further and further away, before disappearing entirely at a bend in the road.

He hadn't said goodbye.

He was never to see Benny Lafitte again.

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**Sorry for the feels, next chapter more Sabriel. Real Destiel starts soon, I promise! Please review so I know what you think. I personally think you are all both the 'Bee's Knees' _and_ the 'Kat's Pajamas."**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sabriel slowly canonizes, but Gabriel sets it back a little with a miscalculation. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 7: One Bowl of Turkish Coffee, Irish.

The next day, Gabriel invited Sam to go out for drinks after work. Sam recoiled. Gabriel raised his hands in self-defense.

"It's something straight men do together, right? Socializing, womanizing, other nice manly 'izings' he said. Sam grimaced, but nodded. "Great! I'll meet you in front of the building after you get out of work" he said.

Sam walked off, shaking his head and making his ponytail swing behind him.

…

Sam and Gabriel were in awkward silence as they picked their way over the muddied sidewalk until they were past the construction. Gabriel, who had had time to go home and change into his street clothes, looked Sam over. Where they were going, he was going to stick out like a sore thumb in his suit and tie.

"Take the scrunchy out, Chelsey. You'll embarrass me." Gabriel said at length. With a scowl, Sam removed it.

"Alright, Gabe. Where are we even going?" he demanded. Gabriel shrugged.

"You know, for drinks." He said dismissively. Sam looked around, not recognizing the neighborhood they were entering.

"Seriously, man"-

"Here!" Gabriel proclaimed. They stood before a little smoky coffee shop with dark windows and bearded patrons. Sam saw dreadlocks.

"Gabe, where the fuck have you taken us?" he hissed. Gabriel reached up on tiptoes to rustle the moose's hair.

"Honestly? I have no idea. Saw this place on the way to work today, thought we'd check it out." He said. Sam groaned. They entered the Phoenix Club.

The Phoenix Club was smoky, dimly lit, with low wicker tables and cushions. Hookahs lined the walls, and bowls of dark Turkish coffee were being carried to seated customers, all of whom were dressed in clothing reminiscent of the earth in some detached way. Sam felt his stomach tighten, self-consciousness and unease heavy in him.

"Gabriel, we should go." He said. Gabriel's heart went out at the adorable look on Sam's worried face.

"Relax, Moose. You'll be fine." He said. He found them a table, and Sam sat down with some difficulty, trying in vain to fold his long legs under him in his suit. He was drawing stares from all over the coffee house, and prayed under his breath while Gabriel disappeared for a strangely long amount of time in search of service. He returned at length with a steaming bowl of coffee, a bowl of candy, and a fruit smoothie. Staring at the candy and the smoothie, Sam gave him a questioning look. Gabriel sat down.

"I have a habit of ordering off the menu. The owner lives above the shop, he was happy to go up and get me something fresh." He said. Sam noticed bite marks on the other man's neck, and blushed. Gabriel grinned, and lowered his collar to show them off.

"I'm pretty. You can relate, right?" he asked. Sam almost stood up and left.

"What happened to going out for drinks?" Sam asked. Gabriel looked around.

"I see people drinking. This is out." Gabriel said. He motioned towards the coffee.

"A drink. Drink it." He said. Sam glowered.

"I thought you meant liquor." He complained. Gabriel furrowed his brow and nodded.

"Right. I've got you covered there, too." He said, pulling out a flask. "Drink up moose."

With a glance around the shop, Sam did.

After that, they truly hit it off. Sam couldn't remember staying up past ten since he had come to work for RRE, and he soon realized that it was past twelve. A succession of musicians and poets had come and gone from the coffee shop, and its patrons had become sketchier and sketchier. The tie had left his neck, and the jacket had joined it on the floor. His shirt was unbuttoned over his white undershirt, and he was sloppy drunk. Gabriel finally took his hand and pulled him to his feet.

"Alright, big boy. Time to get you home." He said. Sam shook his head, making his hair go everywhere.

"I'm having fun, Gabriel. Fun. _Me_. I don wanna go." He whined. Gabriel shook his head, and dropped a wad of bills on the table, tipping inordinately for the ludicrously long time they had used the table. He gathered up Sam's clothes, and began to drag him out the door. The big guy stumbled, but went with him, still wining quietly.

"I just wanna stay out a little later, come on, Gabriel, it sooooooooo- oh!" he said as they stepped outside. Gabriel glanced back at him.

"Oh?" he asked, amused. Sam was looking around.

"The air is so warm out here. And it's so wet." He said. Gabriel nodded. It was a hot night, to be sure, and it had just rained, the humidity was still hanging in the air.

"Yeah." He said. For some reason, the revelation about weather was making Sam look depressed, near tears. Gabriel hailed a cab.

"Where do you live?" Gabriel asked, snapping Sam from a melancholy reverie.

"Oh. In a tall building. An apartment building." He said. Gabriel sighed.

"Which one?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"Yeeeeeeeaaaaah."

By the time the cab showed up, Gabriel had gotten it out of him, and he pulled the moose into the back of the cab. That was when he started to cry. Tonight was not going as well as he had thought- the moose could NOT hold his liquor.

"Gabriel, I did something really baaaaaad." He started sobbing. "Really really really bad, a really long time ago." He continued, hiccuping and sobbing. Gabriel felt like he was having a nightmare. Second date, no booze. Got it.

"It can't be that bad, Sammich." He said, using a degrading nickname to try to snap him out of it. Sam looked him in the eyes, and fully serious with a face full of tears and snot, said: "You have no idea."

He wouldn't say anything to Gabriel until they got to his apartment. Gabriel tucked him into bed fully clothed, and left, locking the door behind him. Waiting on the street for a cab, he whistled.

"So, not exactly what I'd call getting lucky." He mumbled to himself.

In the night, Sam wailed his contrition.

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**Hope you are enjoying this, and please, rate and review! I lurve you! Another Destiel chapter next, should be the last of the tiresome Dean back story chapters before getting into meaty, blue-eyed Destiel. That sounded wrong. So did that.**


	8. Chapter 8

**So, this is the first REAL Destiel chapter, and Cass is most like he is during his insanity arc with the Sam's hell thing. So... yeah. Character death, so triggered people be warned.  
**

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Chapter 8: The Third Memory, and the New One.

"Tell me about mommy again." Jo said quietly at breakfast the morning after his jilted walk down memory lane. Dean felt ice in his heart, acid rising in his stomach. He honestly didn't want to go through this again, it was becoming almost a weekly request on Jo's part. But as much as he missed his wife, Jo had lost a mother- something he didn't think he could have survived. He owed it to her to give her whatever she wanted about the woman whose name she shared. Squinting against tears, he leaned forward on the table to be at eye level with his tiny daughter.

"When I met your mother, I was nineteen. It was the Autumn-time, and I was feeling… sad." He said. Jo nodded.

"Because Uncle Sammy did something mean." Jo said. Nodding, Dean smiled sadly.

"Yeah, Uncle Sammy did something mean. So, it was autumn, and I there was a new restaurant opening up not far from here, something called a roadhouse. I was… sad, so I started spending more time there than at home."

"One night, there weren't enough people to work at the restaurant, so the owner's daughter had to work." He smiled at the memory. Jo did too.

"Mommy!" she said. He tousled her hair.

"That's, right, it was your mommy. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. I asked her to kiss me, that first night we met. Do you know what she did?" he asked. Jo knew, but she grinned and shook her head.

"_Your_ mommy dumped a drink on me and _her_ mommy kicked me out."

"So I went back the next night, and the night after that. After a while, we started to realize… we were falling in love. And it was good."

"And then I was born!" Jo cried. Dean shook his head, laughing.

"Not so fast, kimosabe. First, your mommy and I got married. I had never been in love with anyone so much as I loved your mommy, and that's the truth. We wanted to have you as soon as we were married, but she was afraid we shouldn't have babies with the money I made at work. So she went to college.

"She became a nurse, so she could help people… And _then_ we had you." He said. Jo clapped, but remembering what came next, became very quiet. Dean took her in his arms again, and told the rest of the story in barely a whisper, afraid that he would cry otherwise. "When you were born, we were the happiest people on earth. But that didn't matter to everyone.

"Your mommy was a nurse for people who needed help really fast- people who had had accidents. One night, when she was working late, a man came in who was very hurt- more than you were when you had chicken pox. The man was in pain, and he was scared.

"When your mommy tried to help him, he got scared, and…" Dean was ashamed at the example he was setting for his daughter, but he couldn't finish the story. Jo knew the rest.

The heroine addict had pulled a gun while on the emergency room gurney, and had shot her mother to death where she stood.

…

Dean worked harder than usual at the garage that day. Castiel's car was a real mess, and he attacked the project with the energy of someone with too much on their mind. Around noon, Castiel wandered into the garage, looking lost. He seemed disheveled, a little homeless. Dean hauled himself up into standing position.

"Well, hello, Mr. Castiel. What can I do for you?" he asked. Castiel looked around.

"I was wondering if you would like to go out for lunch. I don't know any of the places to eat here." He said. Dean smiled, realizing that the poor mook was probably just lonely and in need of conversation.

"Sure, I know just the place." He said. Castiel looked glad. Dean led Castiel to the Impala.

"You have a lovely car." He said, smiling. Dean was warmed by the childlike honesty in Castiel's complement.

"Thanks. She's my baby, you know." He said. Castiel looked suddenly distracted. "What's wrong, Cass?" he asked, not asking permission to use a nickname. Castiel shrugged.

"Nothing. Just someone walking on my grave." He said. Dean knew the feeling. The two men entered his car, and they pulled away.

Sitting in the greasy spoon down the road, Castiel stared intently at the menu.

"There is so much to ingest in this world…" he said, marveling at the sheer size of it. Dean found this endearing; the wonder that Castiel felt towards commonplace things was heartwarming, if not an indicator of something wrong with him. "How can you possibly choose what to try next?" Castiel asked, staring Dean in the eye. Dean laughed.

"That's easy, Mr. Castiel. Know what you like." He said. Almost on cue, a waitress appeared.

"Could we have two house burgers, hon? Slide a fried egg on one of those for me?" he asked. The waitress blushed, and took his order, flitting off to the kitchen. Castiel cocked his head.

"You ordered for me." He said. Dean nodded.

"You were looking at that menu like it was some mystery novel; you'd have never made a choice." He explained. Castiel nodded.

"I don't mind you making choices for me." He said. If it weren't for the earnest nature of the man, Dean would have been uncomfortable, but he didn't think that Castiel was capable of flirting.

"That is no way to live, Mr. Castiel. You make your own choices. Understand?" he asked, staring him down. He felt oddly protective of this stranger. Castiel smiled again, and nodded.

"Certainly."

Their food arrived.

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**Thanks for reading, as always, please rate and review. Next chapter more Sabriel... and, yeah. Thanks!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry it's been a while, I needed to get some school stuff out of the way. Have some Sabriel! Thanks for the follows, and please rate and review!**

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Chapter 9: Fire Over Land

Sam was strangely proactive in coming to see Gabriel at lunch on Monday. Gabriel was afraid that Sam would be too embarrassed by his meltdown on Friday night to talk to him again. He was glad his fears went unfounded.

"Hi." Sam said sheepishly, eyeing the cherry pie. It was a new one this week. Gabriel gave him a measured smile, and began to make a show of cutting the pie, stalling for time.

"How was your weekend?" he asked. Sam shifted from foot to foot.

"Hung-over." He answered at length. Gabriel laughed.

"I'd bet. Didn't peg you for a featherweight." Gabriel remarked. Sam looked down.

"Yeah. I didn't use to be… I guess it's been a while. I haven't done much of anything since I came to New York." Sam admitted. Gabriel grinned.

"No worries Samoose. No hard feelings?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"Let's try this again. A weeknight, this time? No drinking?" he suggested. Gabriel gave him a condescending look.

"Tonight. My place. And in regards to drinking? No promises." He said. Sam nodded. He could work with that. He walked away from the counter, and sat down to eat his food. The weather on Friday night had managed to connect to the summer in Louisiana in his drunken mind, breaking a barrier that had been up for nearly twenty years. A barrier he had put up for a reason. He still had a stinging, cringing pain in his consciousness, a mental burn from the hours it had plagued him before he'd put it back in its place. He didn't like feeling guilty. Maybe he could push it out of his mind completely with Gabriel's-

He stopped himself. Whoa. Speaking of guilt. He could not afford to think like that- Gabriel was a friend. And the summer in Louisiana… it had been entirely about _that_. What kind of monster would he be if her let himself want the same thing he had destroyed his relationship with Dean over? He was good at ignoring his thoughts, however, and was soon back to enjoying pie, images of Gabriel in anything but a platonic light shoved far away where he could see them. He finished his lunch.

…

Gabriel met him after work in front of the building, the construction still roaring away. Sam asked:

"Car?"

Gabriel scoffed and answered:

"Unicorn."

They walked down the street and hailed a taxi.

…

When they entered Gabriel's apartment, Sam's mind reeled.

"How much time do you spend here?" he asked, taking in the art and the mess. Gabriel shrugged.

"Enough. Have a drink?" he asked, wading thru laundry towards his refrigerator. Sam stepped awkwardly into the room, and the door swung shut behind him.

"No thanks." he called. Gabe mumbled something, and gestured for him to sit down on the enormous beanbag couch. Sam slid off his jacket and tie, and obliged. Gabriel returned a few moments later, balancing food and a bottle of what appeared to be green apple flavored vodka in his tiny arms. Sam laughed, thinking absurdly of ants. Gabriel sat down beside him on the couch, and put the foodstuffs on the floor. Sam stopped to think of the ludicrousness of the situation.

"What am I doing here?" he said aloud. Gabriel put his chin in his hand.

"Lack of volition, pet? Join the club. What you're doing here is telling me why you pulled a one-man rain scene from a Nickolas Sparks movie on me on Friday. A guy as pretty as you shouldn't cry like that." He said. Sam froze up. Was Gabriel gay? He hadn't thought he was. He looked towards the door.

"Listen, this is crazy. It's a work night, I need to-"Gabriel forced a glass of the noxious looking green liquor into his hand.

"You will drink the cheap booze. You will tell me you story." He demanded in a comical hypnotist voice. The humor made Sam relax a bit, and he downed the sweet apple flavored drink. He gagged on it.

"Nasty." He said. He felt oddly safe with Gabriel. The little man was all soft lines, sitting on the couch, his hairl golden in the light from the lamps, his face intent on Sam's Sam liked that, Gabriel's face. He liked the lines next to his eyes. Gabriel looked expectantly at him. "Fine. When I was sixteen years old…" Sam delved into the story, from his point of view; watching his brother slip further and further from him, becoming distant. Having to be jealous of Dean's time with Benny, and not understanding why Dean was never there. And the sheer panic he felt when Dean said he was going to stay.

"I was nothing without him, then, Gabe." He said. He was crying, but in a controlled, dignified way. "It was like someone was telling me they had to keep my arm when I went home. I didn't know what to do."

"I was about a minute away when I went back- I can't even remember why. And there he was, in the woods, with Benny Lafitte, and I…"  
He stopped, sobs shaking him for a moment. Gabriel put an arm around him, guiltily enjoying the story for its dramatic flair despite the obvious negative baggage it held for Sam.

"I said things to him… Things I couldn't take back. I blackmailed him into coming home with me. Now he can't be happy, and it all…" Sam broke off again. Gabriel looked at the bottle on the floor. Sam wasn't drunk- he'd only had the shot Gabe had given him. Jesus, it was like a soap opera with this kid when he wasn't being a robot. But wasn't that sort of what he had seen in him in the first place? Gabriel rubbed Sam's back.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, kiddo. Bro _must_ have fallen in love again, or he will someday." Gabriel assured him. Sam looked up.

"He did, Gabriel. And she _died_. If he had stayed with Benny, he would have never met her. If I hadn't…" Sam broke off again, but was whispering something that Gabriel couldn't make out.

"What?" he asked, putting his head close to Sam's. Sam looked up a little. Sam just wanted to feel safe, from himself, from his guilt… Those soft lines again, that golden hair…

"And everything's even more fucked up now because I'm guilty of the same thing as him." Sam said. Gabriel didn't understand. And then Sam grabbed his head and kissed him. Silent bells of triumph went off in the back of Gabriel's mind as Sam pulled the smaller man on top of him, lying on his back and running his hands up under the smaller man's work uniform. Jesus, this guy had energy. Gabe guessed that a few years of drone life must do wonders for a person's libido.

"Tell me" Sam said through clenched teeth between frantic kisses "To stop." He finished, pushing Gabriel up and kissing the exposed skin of his stomach. There was fire between them, not sparks, and Gabriel thought that extinguishing it was the last thing that Sam was going to do.

"Alright, Sammy. Stop." He purred, and his breath caught in his throat at what Sam did next. His eyes practically rolled back in his head. "See? Not as easy as you thought."

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**I solemnly swear that the real Destiel starts next chapter. Scouts honor. Ive already wrtten most if it, and the ?Destiel is real. Please hold on for just a few more days! *Sings* Let the ship sail on... cannon never bothered me anyways.**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Who Can It Be Now?

Dean and Castiel hit it off over the course of the next week. Dean noticed that Castiel seemed to look more and more disheveled as the week went by, and dean wondered as to whether or not the man had some place to sleep. Castiel was fantastic for conversation, full of joy and wonder and understanding, and would talk to dean for hours while dean was under the hood or chasse of the other man's car. Castiel would talk about anything accept himself; questions about his past or his destination were met with evasive comments or silence. One day, after finishing work on the other man's car, Dean pulled himself out from under the car and threw a towel at Castiel.

"Mr. Cass, if you're going to be hanging around here all day, you're going to be learning something. Get over here." He said. "And take off that rain coat, it's too dam hot." Castiel looked surprised, but took off the coat, and got down on the ground near dean. "Now pay attention, I don't want to have to repeat myself a thousand times." He said. Castiel nodded. There was heat under the car, and the muscles of deans arms swelled and flexed where they were being used. Castiel gazed at him with curiosity, but dean just as soon would have thought it was admiration at the mechanics behind its motion, not the body its self. So, by the end of the first week working on the car, Castiel knew how to take care of most of it himself. On Friday at the end of the first week, Dean and Castiel were eating a dinner that Mrs. Winchester had packed for them in the impala, listening to a baseball game on the car's radio. Castiel's gaze and attention were not on the game.

"There is a storm brewing, Dean." He said. Dean nodded, taking a bite you of the cold burger in his hands. "Perhaps you had better go home and see your daughter." He suggested. Dean nodded. He had mentioned to Castiel that his daughter was afraid of thunder.

"I suppose you're right, Mr. Castiel." Dean said. "Where are you staying?" he asked. Castiel shook his head, and opened his door.

"I can walk, Dean. I need the exercise anyways." He said. He walked off, his coat billowing around him in the gust front winds. Dean shrugged, and drove off.

…

That night, lying in bed and waiting for his memories to come crashing down on him, Dean heard a noise. He sat bolt upright, and listened to hear it again. I rapping sound, louder the second time. Was that someone at the door? He walked groggily from his room, glancing at the clock on his way to the door. Three A.M. He opened the door, and a gust of wind blew in the rain. Castiel stood, soaking wet, in the doorway.

"Dean. I'm so sorry, I-"he began, but Dean was pulling him into the house by the collar.

"Cass, what the hell are you doing out in that storm?" he asked, slamming the door. "You could"- he caught himself about to say "Catch your death". God, he was becoming his mother. Castiel was shivering.

"I did not have money for lodgings while in the vicinity, and I have been sleeping in the park… But tonight it was far colder than I had anticipated. I recognized your car in the neighborhood, and I"- Dean interrupted him.

"You came to _me_?" he asked. Castiel nodded.

"I am sorry Dean, but I don't know anyone else. I can leave right now if you want." He said. Dean shook his head, feeling flushed from the sudden wakefulness the burst of cold wind had incurred.

"Stay here, Castiel. God dammit. And get out of those dam clothes, you'll freeze to death." He said. "I'll go get something for you to wear." He sighed, walking to his room. He rifled through his drawers, not sure whether to be angry or depressed. Castiel was actually homeless- what was up with this guy? He felt compelled to call someone, to try to get the guy help, but didn't know who or why. He returned to the living room to find Jo sitting on the couch, staring at the soaking wet Castiel, deep in conversation. Considering Castiel's occasionally unstable mental condition, a bolt of fear struck him momentarily, but he calmed when rationality set in. He knew that Castiel wouldn't hurt his daughter. Jo looked up when she noticed him.

"This man says he is Castellell. That's a made up name." she said. Castiel shrugged. Dean picked her up, tossing the dry clothes to Castiel.

"That it is, Joey. That it is. Now let's get you back in bed." He said, and carried her to her room. She didn't protest as he put her back to sleep. When he returned to the living room, Castiel was standing awkwardly in a pair of basketball shorts and Led Zeppelin t shirt. The t shirt was far too small on him, as he was taller than Dean, and a good four inches of his stomach was visible between the waistband of the shorts and the hem of the shirt. Dean hadn't even thought about sex since his wife had died, but couldn't keep his eyes off of the bare skin. God, no. Not again. Benny was gone, Jo was dead…

"Dean, why are you staring?" Castiel asked, all huge blue eyes and tossled black hair, looking like a drowned kitten. Dean looked away.

"Nothing, Castiel." Dean said. Castiel walked over to him, and put a hand uncomfortably on his shoulder.

"Dean, does the fit of your clothing on me make you feel uncomfortable? I understand that they do not fit ion the most flattering way, but"- Dean cut him off by kissing him, harder than he meant to, both hands working into the taller man's wet black hair. He pulled away, and back off, nearly falling backwards over a chair and tipping over a lamp. He was horrified, embarrassed, aroused… Castiel stood in one place, staring forward. Dean felt cold, colder than Castiel looked. Castiel put a hand to his mouth.

"That was wetter than I had expected." He said at length. Dean squinted.

"What?" he asked. Castiel continued to stand in the same place.

"When you kissed me, I had expected there to be… less saliva." He said. Dean began to laugh.

"Expected?" he asked. Castiel nodded earnestly.

"It is my understanding is that you told me to make my own decisions. I made my decision when you told me that I could stay the night." Dean was a little shocked.

"So…" he began. Castiel kissed him again, and Dean'sa hips bucked and involuntarily. Castiel pulled away, questioning.

"So?" he asked. Dean grinned, and kissed his neck.

"that." He answered kissing him harder. Castiel nodded. As they became more and more frantic, more garments falling to the floor, Dean pushed the thoughts of his wife and Benny from his mind. Loneliness and lust won out, and he and Castiel made love, albeit clumsy and rushed love, in Dean's living room. Dean could have taken them to the bedroom, but that was his wife's. He could deal with whatever this would mean in the morning.


End file.
